Almost Like Depth
by Sacred Dust
Summary: An ode to Quinn from her biggest fan in the world! From romance to drama to scenes that shouldn't be. NOW UP: Chapter 8, 'Heroine.' Quinn reveals a most unusual superpower! Set at the end of 'Mart of Darkness.'
1. Closeout

_Abandon substance, all ye who enter here. :) For this is an ode to Quinn, my cherry-flavored lip gloss-wearing muse. If you love her as much as I do, or even a little bit, then this is your place. By all means, PM me if you have any requests! I'm always open to a creative idea or a challenge._

**Almost Like Depth**

Closeout

Ω

Today was a good day for green.

Quinn slid her closet open like she had a thousand mornings before this one. Her dark eyes scanned the hangers, almost laser-like, for the appropriate shade.

Bright green? No, it reminded her of broken bottles and discarded plasticware from her family's overturned recycling bin. Dull green was like the stuffed dinosaur on her bed that a boy had given her. Forest green. Now that was something you didn't see enough of. Like trees and leaves…and her sister's jacket.

_I wonder where Daria is now,_ she thought. But no, there was no point in thinking about that.

She put on a forest green fringe skirt. Now if only she had a matching top…but you couldn't have everything. She paused at a pastel yellow tank, and it seemed just right.

Yellow and green reflected a basic rule of fashion: stand out, in a good way. She would be all the sunshine that might not show through, and all the plants that had died in the last few weeks. She slipped into the tank and went to the three mirrors set up in the corner. Quinn smiled at herself. She was the cutest thing in Lawndale. Maybe the world, now.

With that done, it was time to think about the day. Parting the bright red curtains to peek out her bedroom window, Quinn saw the same thing she always did. She quickly closed them back up. Next she switched on the radio and turned the knob slowly, listening for something good. Static seemed to rule over all. "Damn," she muttered fretfully. "Oh well. It's better than those 'mental in the morning' guys."

She took her time going downstairs, ignoring the dirty windows in the family room. No school again today; winter break had started early. What was Christmas going to be like this year? She would just have to get herself something nice and go from there.

The basement was small, dingy and lit by a single bulb. Still, it was now Quinn's favorite room in the house. She was grateful for Dad's military background; he had crammed the wooden shelves with survival gear and a wide assortment of canned food. Naturally the supply was not unlimited. She decided on some corn today. She would read the ingredients for breakfast, look at the picture for lunch and eat it for dinner. Too bad there was no one around to get her a soda.

She grabbed one of Aunt Amy's old records and started up Dad's record player. It was a pop song with an exuberant beat, and her foot started tapping as she read the can. "Whole kernel corn, water, sugar, salt," she read. What a letdown. At least there was a recipe for Quick and Easy Potato Corn Chowder.

"When the world is running down," someone sang on the record. "Running down…running down…" It was stuck.

She finished reading the can and began to eye the telephone handset sitting on the dusty table. Like the radio, she tried it every day and with similar results. Might as well get it over with. Grab receiver, dial random number, no answer, roll eyes, turn off and put back on the table. Done. No more friends ever called wondering what shoes to wear or which holiday sale to hit first.

So what was she going to do today? Quinn had exhausted her supply of fashion magazines long ago, and in desperation was plundering her sister's room for books. Most of them were inscrutable, but a few had been surprisingly good. She was starting this really long poem about an angel who got thrown out of the big fashion club in the sky or something, maybe because God was jealous of his unerring color sense. But reading all day could be boring, and of course there was nothing on TV. Literally.

"Running down," the record player still taunted her. "Running down."

Her lip curled. "Shut up." She knocked it with her elbow.

"…You make the best of what's still around," the singer finished the chorus at last.

An ironic smile crossed her pretty face. What _was_ still around? Just the same old stuff that was driving her stir-crazy. Quinn was afraid even to open the front door. She had tried it, once. What she saw, heard and smelled had sent her reeling back inside, sick to her stomach. Not only was that totally unfashionable, it was a luxury she couldn't afford now.

"What's still around…" Stuck again. The phrase repeated endlessly, like a question. "What's still around?"

She turned off the record and was about to leave when she saw a long metal case on a bottom shelf. It was an ugly shade of brown, so she hadn't really noticed it before. But something about it was familiar.

She opened the case, and there was a set of brand new walkie-talkies.

"Dad," she whispered. "You bought these after what we saw on the news. We never had a chance to use them, though."

Or had they? One was missing.

For a moment, Quinn stood frozen and stared at the three remaining handsets. A tiny flicker of excitement, long extinguished, lit up inside of her. Which of the Morgendorffers would have kept one of those ugly things on their person?

Quinn fumbled for one of the handsets. She switched from one channel to another, gasping out nonsense, random memories, anything. Just the pretense of possibly talking to someone was overwhelming. She must have babbled for minutes on end before finally giving up and throwing the thing back on the shelf. Nobody was there.

Quinn's lip began to tremble. Crying seemed kind of pointless when there was no guy to use it on, but she couldn't help it now. And maybe it would kill a good fifteen minutes. She sat at the table and buried her head in her arms. This must be how her sister felt all the time. Or used to feel.

"Maybe if I had a breath mint before I talked into it," she made a sound between a laugh and a sob. Static crackled somewhere in the room. Nothing special about that. She'd been hearing static for weeks.

"Quinn, sometimes your shallowness is so thorough," a sardonic voice said from the walkie-talkie, "It's almost like depth."

A thousand twelve-year-old girls getting their first makeup sets on Christmas morning could not have compared to her joy as she leapt up from the table.

"_Daria!"_ Quinn screamed.

Hope burned within, melting her candy shell.

Ω

_I don't own Daria or the song "When the World is Running Down," by The Police._


	2. Shades of Purple

_A slightly modified scene from "Lane Miserables." *smirk*_

Shades of Purple

Ω

Whoever said "absence makes the heart grow fonder" clearly had not sprouted from the Lane family tree.

A series of unfortunate events had brought Jane's benignly neglectful parents and fractured siblings back to the Lane home all at once. This left both her and Trent with only one option: escape.

Fortunately the Morgendorffers didn't object to her staying with them for a few days. More specifically, Daria had no objection to Trent sleeping over. Unless an embarrassed "eep" at the dinner table counted as such. As usual, Jane told no one about Daria's crush on her brother, but she wasn't above teasing her about it either.

She took the opportunity during a game of Scrabble in Daria's bedroom. Little did she realize how much stranger this night would become.

"Are you _sure_ you've got the concentration for this game?" she asked wryly.

"Huh?" Daria stared pensively into space. "Of course! Why?"

"Well, just 'cause you've only picked two letters."

Daria looked blankly down at her tray. "Oh. Oh, yeah." She made a bold move and reached for a third.

Suddenly the door opened and in came Daria's relentlessly cute sister Quinn. Her choice of pajamas, a lavender tank and violet miniskirt, suggested the same degree of attention she gave her regular wardrobe. Her perfect red hair was done up in a fountain ponytail with a yellow scrunchie. Ignoring Daria completely, she crossed the floor and looked expectantly down at Jane. "You're an artist, right?"

Jane shot the girl a suspicious look. "I've been known to push the paint around. Why?"

"Art fascinates me," Quinn said indulgently.

"…Uh-huh." Where was she going with this?

"So! If you were contouring the eyelids of someone with, let's say, coloring, skin tone and hair color just like mine…would you go with a deep plum or a rich mauve?"

"I'd have to see the actual—"

"Okay!" With surprising strength, the fashion slave took her by the arm and pulled her right out of the room. What was happening here? "Don't touch my Q!" she called to Daria. Seconds later she found herself in a dangerously pink, stuffed animal-filled bedroom.

Quinn locked the door behind them and leaned against it. "There," she purred with a coy smile. "I thought I'd _never _get you alone."

Jane raised an eyebrow. "What the heck are you—_mmmmffff!"_ Her inquiry was cut short as the popular girl's lips crushed hers.

Maybe Jane wouldn't tease Daria so much anymore…


	3. Her Closest Enemy

_I like the idea of Quinn having hidden sides to her personality._

Best Enemies

Ω

"…Aaand that's why you haaave the cutest pooores," Tiffany droned.

"Totally!" gushed Stacy. "I mean, they're so…small! I bet you couldn't even see them with a gyroscope!"

Quinn felt a headache building at the base of her skull. She really wasn't in the mood for this stuff today, but she shut her locker and forced a smile as she turned around. "Um, I think you mean a microscope, Stacy. Not that I would know about things like that."

"Oh, of course not!"

"You're not a braaaain," Tiffany agreed.

"Anyway, I _know_ how perfect my skin is. As ambassadors of fashion, we can't spend all day looking at our own pores when we could be improving the vastly inferior pores of others."

"Sorry," said Stacy. "But we just wanted you to know. I think your skin is even nicer than Sa—_eep!"_

Quinn followed the timid girl's gaze to the end of the hall, where the queen of the Fashion Club was fast approaching them. Lesser students stepped aside. Those in front of her examined the floor, and the ones behind cast envious looks at her back.

A sudden vision flashed through Quinn's mind of a bright blue serpent sliding into a den of fearful mice, with cruel blank eyes and a forked tongue darting out to taste their fear. But almost every predator was something else's prey, or at least Ms. Barch said that once before going off on a rant about victimized women.

_Great, now I'm thinking like a brain AND a goth,_ Quinn said to herself. She shuddered and tried to think about her new miniskirt instead.

Sandi Griffin regarded her three friends with her usual frosty demeanor. Their sudden silence was not lost on her. "Oh, don't stop talking on my account, Stacy. By all means, continue."

Stacy went pale. "Oh! Well, I was just…uh…"

"We were taaalking about pooores," Tiffany said, clueless as ever. Quinn could have slapped her. Why did every day have to start like this? Even the last day of their junior year.

_Sandi ruins everything._

"Thank you for clearing that up, _Stacy_," Sandi frowned. "I assume you gave mine the proper attention? Unless you were too busy talking about gross stuff, like _sweat_ or something."

The pigtailed tomboy looked like she might start sweating herself. "Er…um, well, no, I wasn't…"

"I knew it! _God_, Stacy."

"Sorry…" she said pitifully.

"Save it," she walked away in the direction of the bathrooms, leaving a hyperventilating Stacy and a quietly seething Quinn. Even Tiffany had a vaguely troubled look on her face.

"Oh God. What did I do?" Stacy whimpered. There was a tear on her cheek.

Quinn placed her hands on her shoulders. "Nothing. You guys never do _anything_ bad, okay? Stacy, you're the nicest girl I've ever met, and Tiffany, you're…well, being mean just wouldn't occur to you. So stop feeling bad already."

"Huuuuh?" Tiffany frowned.

Stacy's eyes shone with gratitude. "You mean it?"

"Yes. Go get our club meeting notes ready for class, okay? _I'll_ talk to her."

The fashion-ettes walked off, their steps noticeably lighter.

_Oh, yes. I will talk to Sandi._

Ω

Sandi fumed as she checked her makeup in the mirror of the girls' bathroom. Why was she cursed with having the most clueless friends in the world? Her mother always told her she was too tolerant. Of course Stacy was sorry, but she apologized for _everything_, and in Sandi's mind that amounted to never apologizing at all.

But she would learn. Today would be like all the other days this school year; she would show them all who was boss. A dull _click_ registered in the back of her mind, almost like a door locking. Probably just her imagination—

"Hi, Sandi!" A red-haired fashion idol chirped from right next to her.

Sandi jumped. She hadn't even heard her come in. "Ahhh! I mean, ah-hah. There you are. Have you come to apologize for our friend's total disregard for my perfect complexion?"

Quinn checked her bangs in the mirror. "Don't be silly, Sandi! We all respect your pores. Stacy wouldn't stop talking about them. It was crazy."

Sandi gave her rival a withering look, and was surprised that she returned it without flinching. "Gee, Quinn. That's an interesting tone you're using. It's almost like you were annoyed about someone else complimenting _my_ looks instead of yours. But don't worry. You'll get used to little things like that."

"Oh, but I don't feel that way at _all._ If anyone can sincerely appreciate how cute you are, it's the three of us."

There was something different about her, Sandi thought. A shadow around her eyes, a frustrated exhaustion. Or maybe it was just the cheap fluorescent lights. In any case, now was a good time to fake sincerity. She reached out and gave her 'frenemy' a stiff hug. "Um, thanks. You guys are good friends."

Instead of stepping back after a few seconds, Quinn slid around and held Sandi from behind. In the mirror, it looked kind of creepy. Actually, it _was_ kind of…

"Of course we're good friends," Quinn agreed warmly. "How could we not be, with _your_ generousness?"

Sandi wasn't in the mood to correct her grammar. "Um, ha ha. That's good. I have to, um, go now."

Quinn's arms tightened around her shoulders. "Wait, Sandi. I've just _got_ to tell you something."

"W-what?"

The other girl's dark eyes gleamed. "Stacy looks so unattractive when she cries, doesn't she? I mean, her makeup runs everywhere and it's just a mess. And when Tiffany feels bad, she kind of just drifts even farther away, and nobody looks good like that."

"Um…I guess."

"And since I know you're not the kind of girl who would ever need to make herself look better by making other girls less cute, not that we don't all do that but some of us just enjoy it way too much, and not that you _could_ look any better anyway…then there's no reason why you would ever have to hurt them, right?"

"Gee Quinn, could you possibly do a worse job of explaining that? I'm afraid your communication skills are just not bad enough. Now can I go—ow!" she winced as fingernails, painted pink and yellow, began to dig into her sides.

"If you ever make Stacy cry again, or if you make Tiffany feel stupid one more time…I'll take the Club away from you," Quinn whispered. Her voice was a syrupy hiss. "I'll leave you with nothing. And you know I can do it."

"N-no," Sandi stammered, but her façade was crumbling. This was a side of Quinn she never knew was there.

"Look at yourself," Quinn shoved her even closer to the mirror. "_Look."_

Sandi wanted to scream, or run, but she could do neither. She could see herself trembling in the mirror. Quinn's face was as statuesque as her body, cold and hard like polished stone.

"You're freaking beautiful and it's not enough for you. You're so screwed up you can't feel good if you're not hurting someone. Everybody knows it. They're always asking why I let you be in charge. But that's the point. I _let_ you be in charge," The hug got so tight that for a moment she could barely breathe. "Okay?"

She nodded wildly at the reflection she no longer recognized. _Oh God, I'll agree to anything, just leave me alone._

It was like someone had flipped a switch. In a split second the redhead let her go, stepped back and smiled. The sweetness was real again. Or had it ever been real? "_Thanks_, Sandi! It's a deal! You're so understanding."

Sandi stared down into her purse and rummaged through it just to avoid looking at her. Her hands shook so hard that she spilled its contents on the floor. She knelt down to retrieve them, and by the time she looked up Quinn was gone.


	4. Damn It, Daria

_Just a look inside Quinn's head. It's going to get surprisingly crowded...  
_

Damn It, Daria

Ω

A long shower that uses all the hot water, ten different lotions, hair drying, makeup session, perfect outfit carefully selected…yay! Another day in the life of Quinn. I love being me. I'd be me forever if I could. Oh wait, I can! Cause I figure by the time I'm 18 they'll invent something that keeps everybody young and cute and I'll never have to get old or work for a living and people will keep bringing me sodas with crushed ice forever. At least science is good for something!

But that's the future. Today I'm going to run out the door and meet my friends at Cashman's where we can try on a hundred items of clothing and maybe buy ten and I'll say they all look so cute even though I'm obviously the cutest and they all know it, even Sandi. Then we'll drink some Aquafina and maybe have a salad if we're feeling naughty. So anyway yeah! That's how this day is going to be.

I float out of my room in a bubble of my own adorability. It's a great feeling, but it takes practice to control where it takes you. At least I guess it does because instead of turning and going down the stairs I'm suddenly stopping at my sister Dah-ria's door and—

_"__In my own country I am in a far-off land._

_I am strong but have no force or power_

_I win all yet remain a loser_

_At break of day I say goodnight_

_When I lie down I have a great fear of falling."_

_-Francois Villon_

It's on a page she just tore out of some old book and taped on the door. And just like that I've stopped. I couldn't move if I wanted. All I can do is read that quota or whatever you call it, over and over.

This brainy unwashed French poem writing guy who must be really super old by now, like 50…it's like he knows exactly who I am. And how I used to wrap myself so tight under the covers when I was little because I was afraid I would fall right out of my bed into the ceiling. Except there was no ceiling, there was only the dark, where nothing is cute and you can't find your lip gloss and you can't even see in a mirror, so you might have to look inside yourself instead, and what if…what if there's…

My sister. The door opens and there she is. We stare at each other forever, since I can't think of anything to say and since she never has anything _nice_ to say maybe I'll be lucky and she'll just stay quiet, right?

Never mind. "Um, Quinn? The new clothing displays are over _there_," she points east. "About three miles that way."

I just keep standing there lost in my own head. I'm not ready to say anything yet, but if I were I'd give her a piece of my mind. She didn't just make me read, she made me think! Damn it, Daria. I knew exactly who I was and what I was going to do today and then you put that page up there.

"Quinn, are you rebooting?" She pushes the door open wider so I can't see the paper anymore, and just like that I finally break free.

"GOD, Dah-ria! I'm fine! Can't someone read if they want to?! Not that I was reading because that would make me some sort of an egghead freak, and if I did I sure wouldn't read anything in French! I don't care if they invented that yummy toast or not. Take that paper down! I do _not_ read! It did _not_ make me think and if you lie and tell anyone I did I…I…_I'll smudge all your lipstick!"_

I run downstairs and out of the house.

I spend that same day at the mall I was planning on. We shop and sample and shop and complain and shop and fight and make up and buy makeup and fight about makeup and then shop some more. I try not to read anything except for price tags, and by the time we leave with our bags of new clothes and shoes I'm okay again.

Until I get home and walk into my room, and that page is sitting right there on my bed. Next to the book Daria must've taken it from.

_The Collected Works of Francois Villon._

I want to run back to my sister's room and throw it at her. First I make sure my door is shut and locked, then I put the book inside a fashion magazine and read some for a second just to see how much I hate it. I hate it so much I can't stop, and the next thing I know Mom is pounding on the door telling me to turn my light off and go to bed.

I do, and for once looking up into the dark isn't so scary.

"Damn it, Daria."


	5. Shopper's Cramp

_Insert generic return speech or Quinn worship here. I'll take a page out of her book and not think too much._

Shopper's Cramp

Ω

A visitor had just arrived.

Once , she would have been greeted with flashing neon signs and throngs of other young people. Now all that welcomed her was a single piece of glass, coming loose from its broken pane and falling to the marble floor.

Quinn stepped into the glow of a skylight and stared mournfully at the remains of her teenage hangout. It was unreal, like a bad dream, but she had pinched herself three times and it was still there.

Browning ferns drooped lifelessly in their faux-ceramic planters, and beyond them several colorful benches lay broken or overturned. Farther on, crude and uncreative graffiti threaded its way between boarded up and gated storefronts. Even the silent fountains had been tagged on the inside, with only the message "I was here. –Andrea" to remind her that this was, in fact, Lawndale.

Quinn shuddered at the gloomy tableau. Nothing could have prepared her for this trip, not even the latest fashions in urban exploration: dark and durable blue jeans, thick-soled hiking shoes and a dark gray woolen parka. A black skullcap left over from her brief stint as a "brain" completed the ensemble.

It had not come as a complete surprise. She vaguely recalled an interminable phone conversation where her mother mentioned "that old place just isn't getting any business these days," but the real impact came with her latest assignment in economics class at Vance University. (She had decided against Pepperhill in favor of a real education, and look where it got her.)

Her professor, Mr. Peters, was not as creepy as this place but he certainly tried. Between long sessions of ogling all the girls in class, the instructor had thoughtfully provided them with a list of dead or dying malls in the northeast U.S. for their midterm assignment. Most of them were places Quinn had never heard of, but one near the end hit her like a lightning bolt:

_Cranberry Commons. Also known as Lawndale Mall._

Glass crunched somewhere behind her. Quinn jumped and whirled around, but it was only Jane.

"Don't walk so far ahead of me," the slender girl grumbled. "I did you a big favor just driving you here."

"You call _this_ a favor?" Quinn gestured to the emptiness before them. Her voice rang and echoed, startling her.

"Shhh!" Jane glared fiercely. "Quiet. We don't want to get caught. Or worse. Mass serial puppy killers, remember?"

"Whatever," Quinn sighed, but she lowered her voice anyway.

In her high school days, Quinn knew Jane only as her sister's weird friend who painted ugly things. On this occasion she was a partner in crime. They were, technically, trespassing. But the city clearly didn't care about this place, and with Jane's morbid artistic sensibilities, Quinn knew she would be the perfect ally on this trip.

She stared up through the dirty glass at a gray autumn sky. "God. How could this happen?"

"Competition, kiddo. The Mall of the Millennium killed it. Stores started pulling out even before we graduated," Jane took out her digital camera. "They probably lost half their business when you and the fashion drones went to college."

"Don't _say_ that!" the redhead clapped her hands over her ears. "I am not a mall killer! I had nothing to do with this…this _tragesty."_

"I was joking. And there you go shouting again," Jane rolled her eyes heavenward and adjusted the zoom. Same old Quinn. "Look, as long as you dragged me here I want to take some pictures. Do you mind?"

"Sure!" Quinn chirped, striking a bombastic pose. "How's this?"

"Pictures of the mall! Not _you."_

Her shoulders fell. "Fine. I'm going to look around some more."

"K," the artist didn't even look up from the camera. Maybe her companion would meet somebody she had more in common with. Like the mannequins.

Ω

Quinn paused before the entrance to Junior 5. There must be few if any clothes left inside. Even the sign was gone.

This part would hurt the most. Her fondest memories of the Commons were here: breezing around with her friends, buying whatever they wanted on their mothers' gold cards, laughing about the less fashionable and gossiping the time away as if they would be high schoolers forever.

_Why couldn't we be? Why did it have to come to this?_

She took a deep breath and started picking her way through the aisles. The store was a silent husk, and quite a bit darker than the rest of the mall. A little natural light spilled in from the windows at the outside entrance, but she stayed clear of them. It wouldn't do for anyone to see Lawndale's former fashion princess traipsing around an abandoned building—at least not in this outfit. But it was only fitting, wasn't it? If she was a princess, Junior 5 was her palace. Along with Cashman's.

Here was the customer service area along the far wall. Teresa should be behind the counter, waiting to recommend a new purchase to one of her favorite customers. Now there were only shadows and dozens of metal hangers strewn on the carpeting. There should be a line of customers waiting at the fitting rooms—probably for her, Sandi and the others. But the doors hung open, and the only clothes left were so crumpled and dirty that she didn't want to touch them, let alone try them on.

Quinn was startled by her own reflection as she turned. At least the full-length mirrors in the corner were still there. But it was a different girl who stared back at her now, a thin dark shape with haunted eyes.

She stood there for a long time, wondering. When she walked out of here for the last time, would her reflection vanish with her? Or did some part of her still live on here? And when this place was finally torn down, would that part of her die with it?

Quinn wandered through the rest of the mall. It was all more of the same: trash and graffiti everywhere, shuttered stores and fading sunlight.

But the shoppers hadn't gone. Behind her eyes they were everywhere: old ladies buying parakeets from the pet store she'd worked at, cute guys eating cinnamon rolls and nuts from the food court, young parents chasing after their bratty kids. Where had they all gone? Did they even remember what they left behind?

Reality had killed her former life, and this mall was its ghost. The corridors themselves seemed to breathe and whisper sadness, loneliness, even resentment.

_Where were you, Quinn? _Asked the dark space that used to be the Veggie Barn. _You were the only one who ever wanted to eat here. I needed you…_

_Don't leave again, _the rusted mechanical horse ride said. _You belong here. Even if you're, like, way too cool to ride me anymore._

_We don't really have anything to say, _the empty benches whispered. _Um…come sit on us again, I guess? Oh, yeah, and…BOO._

Quinn turned and fled back down the halls, past Junior 5 and into the main area where she last saw her sister's friend. "Jane?! JANE! I need you!"

After a long, terrible silence, she heard other footsteps on the second floor. Jane finally appeared at the top of the stairs, out of breath and irritated. "What?! If this is about about the closeout sale, I'm pretty sure it's over."

She was as brusque and sarcastic as ever—but she was the only real thing that existed here. Quinn's breath tore out of her in quiet sobs as she raced up the stairs and embraced her.

Jane stood frozen for a moment. She felt sure she had missed something here. And she was right, but it didn't matter now. She found herself reaching up and hugging the other girl back. "Gees. Look, um…it's okay. I'm here."

"It's all gone," Quinn babbled, seeming not to hear her. "Everybody's gone. It's all my fault. I let it happen…"

"No. Listen, you're talking crazy. It's not your—"

"I don't want to be here. I want to go home!"

"All right, all right, fine. We'll go home. Just…stop getting me all wet."

Ω

Quinn was silent on the ride back. As refreshing as that might be, Jane knew it had something to do with Cranberry Commons. She just didn't know how to ask.

As they pulled up to the Morgendorffers' house, she finally came out with it. "Listen, Quinn…please don't take this as any real concern on my part, but what the hell happened back there?"

Quinn turned and gave one of the most fragile smiles Jane had ever seen. "What, that? It was totally nothing! I mean, why would you ever think that was something? God, Jane, you're so dramatic."

Jane's sharp eyebrows rose incredulously.

Quinn didn't meet her gaze. "It was just a little shopper's cramp. That's all."

"You didn't _get_ anything. Besides, the mall is...hey!"

The fashion queen slammed the car door and ran up to the house, holding back more tears.

Jane watched her go. Maybe she would never hear the whole story, but she knew one thing. For once, Quinn didn't get anything at the mall-something at the mall got her.


	6. Duplex

_Daria and Quinn were never complete opposites. They're just drawn that way._

Duplex

Ω

"Daria!" It was Mom's voice coming from downstairs.

Five-year-old Quinn stayed under her bedcovers, but she only pretended to sleep. Now was her chance.

Across their bedroom, a large cardboard box lay on its side. It was decorated with crude doors and windows in giant crayon—mostly by Quinn—but what was inside wasn't so happy.

"Daria! I know you can hear me," Mom sounded annoyed now. Quinn lifted a corner of the blanket to watch.

There was a rustling from the box, and Daria slowly stuck her head out. She was always in there, reading or just sitting alone. Quinn hardly ever saw her sleep.

Footsteps on the stairs. Daria sighed and climbed out of the box as their mother opened the door.

"Honestly, Daria, how many times do I have to call you? School isn't going to wait for you, you know."

"I'm ahead of them anyway," the brown-haired kindergartener mumbled. "Make Quinn go instead! She _likes_ it."

"That'll be enough of that, young lady. Quinn doesn't go to your school yet. And how are you going to make any friends if you hole up in your room all the time? Not to mention that box." Mom glanced at it and wrinkled her nose as if she smelled something.

Daria pouted. "I don't _want_ to make friends. The other kids don't like me anyway."

"You have to learn, sweetie. That's all there is to it. Just…smile once in a while!" Mom threw up her hands and turned to leave. "Now get ready for school. The bus comes in 20 minutes."

Quinn listened without a peep. She knew her sister had trouble making friends, but she didn't know why. It was so easy for her to talk to the other kids, and they talked back about all kinds of fun things. Like which preschoolers had the best haircuts and the newest toys.

If I do what she does, Quinn thought, could I be more like her?

She waited patiently while her sister pulled on some clothes that didn't match, and with one more sad look at the box, dragged her backpack out of the room and shut the door.

Quinn kept still another minute to make sure she was really gone. Then, carefully, she slid out from under the covers and crept across the floor. The refrigerator box waited, its flaps open invitingly.

She crawled inside. Towards the back lay a few of Daria's toys and books. Now she knew why Daria liked it so much in here. It was quiet, and safe.

Giggling with barely suppressed excitement, Quinn sat down with her legs crossed just like her sister did. Now was her chance. Even if Daria was sad and mean sometimes, she knew way more stuff than Quinn did. She wanted the other little kids to like her, but she didn't want to be dumb either. So this would just be her little secret.

She picked up the smallest of the books and began to read…


	7. British Invasion

**British Invasion**

"More tea for you then, Miss Dah-ria?" Quinn asked in the fakest British accent her sister had ever heard. A pink frilly Victorian dress and bonnet completed her ensemble.

"Um...no thanks. So why the hell did you drag us in here?" Daria crossed her arms, ignoring the cup of ominously thick brew on the table.

"Yes indeed! To what to we owe the honor, or should I say the hrrrrowwwwr, of this rendezvous?" Upchuck simpered next to her. Tom Sloane and Mr. DeMartino leaned forward inquiringly.

Quinn beamed and clapped her gloved hands in delight. "Why, I thought of no bettah way to dessicate our brand new Lawndale High Tea Room than with a nice tea pahty! What, what?"

"I think you mean 'dedicate'," Tom said warily. "And what am I even doing in this school?"

Demartino risked a sip of the tea and choked. "Um, MISS Morgendorffer. Though I appreciate your imaginative yet BIZARRE gesture, I must remind you that Ms. Li's choice to call this a TEA ROOM was a nod to her associate in the English MOB who paid for it, and not to be taken LITERALLY. So if we could be on our way-"

He was cut off by the sound of the door locking. As the guests looked around uneasily, Sandi, Stacy and Tiffany all approached the table with hungry eyes. Sandi sported white breeches and a black woolen jumper, Stacy a Union jack tank top with jeans and a mohawk. Tiffany had settled for an oversized white t-shirt with "England" scrawled on the front in magic marker.

"Our Student Lounge must serve student interests," Quinn glanced slyly around the table. Her accent, though horrible, never wavered. "As well as those of the Crown. So! A good snogging then?"

The Club's four guests exchanged looks of horror and morbid interest.

"Right-o!" As Quinn snapped her fingers, Stacy dove headlong at Upchuck, tackling him off his chair and onto the carpet. He struggled briefly beneath her kiss, but never had a chance.

"What the-MMMFFF." Tom's protest was cut off as Sandi grabbed him from behind and smothered his lips with hers.

"Teeeeach me somethinnnnnng," Tiffany smiled, and began chasing a terrified DeMartino around the room.

Daria's eyes grew wider than her glasses as she took in the mad scene. But even now she was thinking, doing the math in her head and realizing this left only her and...a thumping sound brought her attention front and center.

"So, Daria," Quinn whispered breathily as she crawled across the table. "You a goer?"


	8. Heroine

**Heroine**

The terrible smell of burning artificial cheese sauce spread through the Payday warehouse store. A moment later, all the power in the entire building went out.  
Of course it had to happen just before the cashier could ring up Jane, Daria, and all of their esteemed peers. The lights were dark, the registers were dead, and the doors were sealed shut.  
"Gummy bear?" Jane asked, looking in Daria's general direction.  
Daria groaned and accepted a handful. She wasn't likely to be getting any other food for a while.  
"Fear not, everyone," a confident, airy female voice rose rose above the litany of customer complaints. "This is a job for...Checkout Girl!"  
A beautiful golden light appeared and spread throughout the front of the store, revealing the speaker as none other than Daria's sister Quinn. She rose up and floated in the air, eyes alight with magical powers, red hair blowing in a mysterious wind. She had somehow donned a very fashionable green spandex jumpsuit with dollar signs all over it, complete with an enticing v-shaped neckline and golden cape.

As everyone watched in awe, Checkout Girl waved her hands-and every register in Payday suddenly lit up again, back online and ready to take in more cash. The drawers resumed ringing and slamming shut in a joyful chorus of commerce, and everyone applauded and thanked their newfound heroine.  
Daria couldn't help noticing that the only lights coming back on were at the checkouts. "Um, Quinn...I admit to being impressed if not totally surprised by this power. But do you think you could get the doors and the lights, too?"  
"Sorry," Checkout Girl said. "It only works on cash registers."  
Daria groaned again.


End file.
